The Descendant of Red Lance
by SunshinePony37
Summary: When Kenshin met Hiko, he had no idea his life would become so complicated. He already had a deep dark secret and someone out there knew about it and wanted it for themselves. Yet, as Kenshin's life unfolds, his power grows and he experiences great pain and joy and untold danger. But who is Red Lance and what connection does he have with this warrior?


Disclaimer: I do not own Rurouni Kenshin, but I must admit I'm having a little bit of fun playing around with it.

Author's Note; My first Rurouni Kenshin submission and I need some input for this, folks. I'm not very familiar with the years, provinces or some circumstances in Kenshin's childhood. I realize a lot of that is left up to the reader's imagination in regards to the manga and such, but there are some questions that I have.

Were Kenshin and Hiko still living within the Choshu province when Kenshin was a boy and learning the Hiten Sword? Was he ten years old or nine years old when he started learning the art? I've seen maps, and the Choshu province was MILES away from Kyoto. I've re-read the manga a bit and it seems to me that for a time Kenshin was still within the Choshu province, or at least close to it. Maybe somewhere between there and Kyoto? That's where Katsura was for a time, wasn't it? It was after Kenshin met Katsura that he journeyed to Kyoto, right?

Anyway, I could use some ideas and pointers on this, but I wanted to do a little something with Kenshin while trying to finish up some of my other fan-fictions and sketches and illustrations and stuff.

This particular fic is an older one, but I have only just now gotten around to posting it.

I could REALLY use some feed back and helpful info on customs and such to make this a bit better.

And on a last note, most of my fan-fictions featuring Kenshin or any of the other cannon characters will have a lot of major points from some of my favorite parts of the anime, the OVA'S, and the manga. HOWEVER, there is VERY little of Seihoshen (SP?) that I will use. I DESPISED it so badly I can't even begin to tell you!

Anyway, please be kind. Since the 'restoration', so to speak, of the Kenshin franchise I have been itching to get some of these old things posted and I hope they will suffice.

Thanks, guys!

Birth of the Assassin, Part One

Choshu Provence

"They are afflicted, the times and the mind of men."

He stared up at the sky as his own introspective words were swallowed by the darkness. The moon was high now but the wind was cold. A stream to his right gurgled gently as it flowed downstream and he sat listening to it, quietly appreciating its unique signature in nature. Other night creatures added their voices to the lullaby, barely erasing the frustration and nostalgia burning inside of him. His eyes narrowed slightly as he sipped the sake he kept at his side, his senses ever alert. It was peaceful here but something in the air felt wrong.

"This world is heading for destruction day by day," he muttered sourly. "Even if a man of incredible strength were to arise, he could not stop it."

He closed his eyes a moment before pushing the cork back in place, and then stood and continued on his way. He was tired but his soul was restless. For so many years now he'd carried on in his master's footsteps, living the life of a savior for many and fulfilling the role of a demon to others. Yet no end to the madness of bloodshed was to be found. No peace awaited him or his fellow countrymen.

Not even an apprentice.

He trudged down the dark path, guided by the streams of moonlight filtering through the trees. Just beyond the woods was a large field, wide and open. Such a place was prime territory for an ambush if any bandits were about. Wisely cautious, he extended his senses and scanned the tall grasses and their shadows with eyes as sharp as an eagle's.

A fair distance off, a small caravan of traders marched through the field. There were at least a dozen strong men walking at strategic intervals around two sturdy wagons laden with goods and supplies, but it wasn't supplies they were transporting, it was people, slaves. There were at least thirty of them and they consisted of a variety of people; old and young, rich and poor. They were prisoners of fate, robbed of their freedom and their lives. They walked a miserable beaten path, devoid of hope, pride and joy.

Among the mixed group of slaves were three young ladies, sisters all, who stayed as close together as they could. Each was frightened and angry but all three carried themselves with grace. The eldest, Akane, glanced slightly behind and to her left at a small boy who walked dutifully beside them. Unlike herself and her sisters, he was completely alone. He lost his family last year and unable to support him, his village had sold him to the slavers where he was doomed to work to the point of exhaustion, or worse, death. His name was Himura Shinta.

A surname was unusual for a farmer, let alone a peasant. She supposed his family had come from a good line of samurai but he'd never really elaborated and so she'd never asked, but she and her sisters had banned together to protect and care for him nonetheless.

Noticing her concerned gaze, Shinta smiled at her and she smiled back. It wouldn't be much farther until they reached the junction point where they could rest, and then, at last, little Shinta could get a few hours sleep. His little feet were blistered and bruised, his hands dirty and scratched from hours of hard labor. He'd sleep long and well tonight, even if she did not.

Shinta, however, was strangely alert despite the exhaustion pulling at his mind. The dark circles under his eyes created strange shadows which made his brilliant amethyst eyes seem to glow. Flecks of gold and amber sparked to life as he stared at the ground. He clutched at his little top as fear consumed him. The night had been so quiet and peaceful but something was wrong. There were more people coming but they didn't feel friendly.

He looked up at the moon as several thick clouds drifted over it, concealing it. For a moment it was disturbingly dark. Someone coughed up ahead. Another sneezed and a child younger than himself began to fuss. The shadows of the night seemed to reach out to him and he could swear the eyes of the dead were watching him. Then the clouds broke and the moon was free. Light returned, but it was as though some cold irony had grasped them. He heard the sound of rushing feet. He heard the chime of drawn swords and heard the cries.

Akane and her sisters turned as at least a dozen bandits swarmed the caravan, rising from the tall grasses like wraiths. Shinta stared at the strange men as people all around him flew into a panic. He'd seen this before. He'd seen it in his dreams.

"Shinta!" He yelped in surprise when Akane grabbed his hand and pulled him with her. His shorter legs could barely keep up with her but his heart raced with the same urgency, the same fear. These men were killing everyone!

He cried out when a woman ran into him and fell, knocking him over. Akane doubled back and grabbed his hand, hoisting him to his feet just before a large bandit bore down on him. The slash meant for him killed the woman who'd inadvertently knocked him down in the first place.

It was a struggle for Akane-san, Kasumi-san and Sakura-san to stay together. They held on to each other and made a bee-line for the tall grasses hoping to use them as cover to escape. Two men were hewn down at Shinta's left but he didn't cry out at the sight of it. He in fact wanted to stop it. He wanted to protect these people, especially the sisters. Yet he was such a small boy, what could he possibly do?

Kasumi-san screamed and stopped suddenly, knocking them down. Shinta stared in disgusted horror as the caravan's leader was literally cut in two. Akane and the others tried to double back, but the bandits had surrounded them. Akane kept a firm grip on his arm but he did not want to be protected.

He spotted a sword lying on the ground just a few inches away. It was much too large for his tiny little hands but it would have to suffice. Two of the bandits laughed when he broke from Akane's grip and snatched it up, but before he could attempt his pitiful attempt at protection, Akane and Kasumi pulled him back, cocooning him between them. The sword dropped to the ground with a heavy thud.

"Shinta! Don't look!"

He looked up at Akane as Sakura lifted her head to glare at the bandits. He heard the screams as the last poor slaves were senselessly killed and swallowed down his fear.

"Kill them."

Sakura was on her feet, standing between the bandits and her family. "Please! Spare the child, I beg you!"

"Out of the way!"

"Sakura-chan!"

"Please, spare him!"

Sakura's scream cut him like a knife. He tried to scream her name, but no sound came. The bandit's sword moved so effortlessly.

Kasumi-san screamed as she was pulled away from them. "Kasumi-chan!" Akane cried. She and Shinta both trembled with fear as Kasumi was slaughtered before their eyes and waited as the same tall, red eyed bandit slowly approached them.

"Shinta! Shinta!" He looked up at the last of the sisters, heart hammering in his chest. He felt her tears on the skin of his cheek. "You are just a child. You have not chosen your life as we have. You cannot die now. You must live!" His eyes widened as she was pulled away. He reached out to her and tried to pull her back. "Live a full life for the sake of those who died here tonight!"

He willed his body to move, to jump to her defense, but terror had numbed his limbs. His heart skipped a beat when the tall bandit stabbed poor Akane through the chest. She fell to the ground, wincing in pain and gasping for breath.

"Shinta . . . onegai . . . live," she gasped, and smiled at him. "Live, Shinta. Live for me!"

The tall bandit silenced her with a swipe of his katana, leaving Shinta to stare in numb shock. He didn't move as the bandit stepped closer to him, ready to make an end of it. Shinta barely registered the glint of the moon off of polished metal when his attacker suddenly halted and turned amidst snarls of shock and indignation.

"Who the devil are you?!" one of the bandits demanded.

"What is the use of a name to a dead man?"

That voice…. Was this another bandit?

He did not look up as the bandits rushed the intruder. He barely heard their cries. His heart was numb. All the fear and anger had disappeared. He could only stare at the sister's dead, tear-streaked faces as the last bandit was cut down in a spray of his own blood.

He sat motionless as his savior approached him. The man was huge. Bigger than the tallest bandit and yet, while imposing, he did not feel dangerous. Somehow Shinta knew he was no longer in danger. This man felt . . . safe.

"You were unlucky, child," the swordsman said. "The Shogunate's laws have been lax since the arrival of the black ships two years ago. More and more self-declared ronin prowl as bandits in this area." Shinta remained motionless as the swordsman cleaned and sheathed his blade. "Still, I suppose it was fate that led me here tonight, and I have taken revenge for you. Just remember that bearing a grudge or mourning will not bring the dead back to life."

He barely managed a nod.

"These things happen everywhere, everyday, in today's Japan. You should be thankful that you, at least, are alive."

He wanted to disagree but Akane had asked him to live.

"Go to the village at the foot of the mountain," the swordsman instructed as he turned away, impatient with the child's silence. "Tell them your story and they will take care of you."

He walked away, leaving Shinta alone. When the stranger was gone the tears finally fell and his little shoulders were rocked with violent sobs. He was alive but he could find no joy in it. Not when he was alone.

**One Week Later**

_It no longer surprises me,_ he thought darkly. _The smell of blood is as common as the smell of white plums. Mankind lives in the hell of being slaughtered by bandits, or he lives in the hell of being sold into slavery. Yes, it happens every day. In the past and in the future. _ He remembered the night, now one week past, where a single boy was spared death. He hadn't moved from where he sat. It was like he was comfortable among a sea of corpses, as though he were used to death.

He shook his head. He hadn't been able to forget that boy and for inexplicable reasons he was going back. He had tried to tell himself it was only to buy the sake the village head sold but he knew that wasn't true. He was worried about the boy and wanted to know if he'd made it to the village. He didn't know why he was so worried but something about the boy had sparked his interest.

Alongside the path, tiny images of Buddha carved in various stones seemed to guide his footsteps. By now the simple peasants who called this village home would be preparing their simple suppers or retiring to bed. The sunset was already casting a bright red glow over the countryside. In his mind he pictured the boy again and recalled how strangely red the child's hair had looked.

By the time he reached the old man's house, a surprise awaited him.

"…He's not here?"

"Nope. No kid, no cat," the old man confirmed, a tint of concern in his voice. "Nobody's come this way for a week."

"…I see," Hiko said, and accepted the sake jug once it was offered to him. "Arigato. Ja."

He left the old man with a frown. _Perhaps it was suicide in despair . . .? It certainly is common enough these days. _

He refused to admit that he should have taken the boy with him then.

Disappointment and regret ate at him as he walked the long distance to the site of the horrid massacre. What were those bandits after, anyway? It couldn't have been much, except some pathetic power streak. The caravan hadn't had much to bother with.

_I wield my sword according to the teachings of Hiten Mitsurugi Ryu, and yet too many times, I cannot even save one soul. I kill and kill, and still the villains, like maggots, spring from the corpse of a rotting Japan!_ He sighed. _It is enough that I bury the corpses, I suppose._

He wasn't prepared for the sight that awaited him once he reached the field; one tiny boy stood amidst an empty field. _No, not empty_, he realized and took a closer look. The sun's dying light had created an illusion. This was a field not a nursery for growing trees. The earth had been dug up here, turned over and erased of the blood which had soiled it. Sticking out of the ground were nearly a hundred grave markers, each of them shaped like a cross. Shadow and light had fooled his eyes but it didn't take a genius to figure out what had transpired here after he'd left.

Suddenly he was seeing something in the boy he hadn't noticed before and cautiously approached him, fearing the child would be shaken with remorse. He was surprised to find the boy was rather calm, though his hands were dirty and bleeding and his face gently streaked with past shed tears.

"I noticed you made graves for the bandits as well as your family," He said, and was surprised when the boy didn't even jump. He realized with a start that this tiny boy already had some use of _chi_, or _ken-ki_.

"They were slave traders, not my family," the boy said. His voice was gentle, just like his face. "I was sold to them a year ago after my family died of cholera."

Hiko was surprised yet again. None of these people were his family and yet he'd still treated them as equals in death.

"Bandits or slavers, once they've died, they are just bodies."

The logic was simple but true. "Still, you made graves for them," he said, deeply impressed. He noticed three stones at the boy's feet. "What are those stones for?"

"Kasumi-san. Akane-san. Sakura-san. All three forcibly taken from their parents as payment for debts. I only met them the day before they died, but I was the only boy here and I have no parents. They tried to protect me. They said; 'please spare the child,' so I wanted to protect them. But I was too young to help." His frustration was obvious. "I couldn't find the right stones to make a nice grave for them like I wanted. These are the only ones I could find. I couldn't even find any flowers to put on them."

The tall swordsman regarded the boy for a long moment before he pulled the cork from the jug of fresh sake and poured a little on each stone, surprising the boy. "Man or woman, it is unfortunate to enter Nirvana without having tasted good sake, so this is my tribute to them."

Shinta stared up at him for a long moment. "Arigato. Demo, who . . .?"

"I am Hiko Seijuro. I am an itinerant swordsman."

"Swordsman?" Shinta repeated.

He nodded and gave the boy a measuring gaze. "My boy, you failed to protect something very delicate. You were entrusted with those three lives. Your tiny hands will remember how heavy their bodies were, but you will carry the far heavier weight of their lives with you forever." Shinta's eyes lost a little of their glow. "But now, you must acquire the strength to support yourself and protect others. Then you will be able to live your life and defend cherished lives."

"Defend cherished lives?"

Hiko nodded again and wondered if repeating questions was a habit of the boy's. "What's your name, boy?"

"Shinta."

Hiko winced. "Much too delicate a name for a swordsman. From now on your name will be Kenshin."

Shinta blinked and tested the new name on his lips. "Ken… shin…"

Hiko's grin grew a little wider. "My boy, I am going to teach you my most precious knowledge."

Shinta, or rather Kenshin, stared at Hiko for a long moment. Was this really happening? Was it any good?

"Come on, boy. Don't stand there gawking. We've a long way to go. Don't fall behind."

It took Kenshin a moment to realize that Hiko wanted him to follow. A chill of unease and excitement washed through him. He turned to look at the graves and offered a final bow.

"Akane-san. Sakura-san. Kasumi-san. I am leaving now. Maybe I have a home now. I promise I will grow strong. Ja!"

"Come on, boy!"

Kenshin turned and hurried towards his new master. He still didn't dare believe that this was really happening, but something in his heart was glad.

To Be Continued . . .


End file.
